Crux EX — The Pain of Silence Review
Crux Ex, a Spanish Depressive Black Metal solo artist whose work channels raw emotion, minimalist production, and ritualistic despair. On September 23rd, 2025, Crux Ex unveiled his latest independent release The Pain Of Silence. A five-track lament blending black metal, ambient decay, and introspective suffering into a thirty-five-minute descent through grief and isolation.
Crux Ex, The Pain Of Silence Review: This review will evaluate every aspect of the album, from its intricate musical composition to its production. Our analysis will provide valuable insights to help you determine if this album is worth adding to your collection.
The First Three Sins, The Summary
The Fourth Sin, Overall Discussion
Genesis Through Ash: The Birth of Crux EX
In a time full of mediocrity, where everything is measured to the millimetre, constrained, and tight, Crux EX is born under an ideal of minimalism and realism, opposing the current decadent culture. The magic lies in simplicity and authenticity. Far from polished, unorganic, and mainstream productions, Crux EX seeks to preserve the purest essence in sound. True to the productions of the 1990s, it explores the rawness and rage of Black Metal, with touches of Death and Doom, and delves into the most introspective ambient music. [Crux Ex]
Descent Begins: Five Hymns of Hollow Flame
When the listener hits play, they dive into five hymns. These span thirty-five minutes. They deliver black metal that captures the raw heart of atmospheric and depressive black metal. This genre pulls from dark roots. It mixes heavy riffs with deep gloom. Think bands like early Burzum or Lifelover. They blend fury with quiet despair. Here, the sound stays simple. It strikes deep intro emotions. The production keeps it lo-fi on purpose. That choice holds true to black metal’s spirit. It shuns clean polish for raw truth. Imagine a tape from a cold, wet cellar. Echoes and grit fill the air.
The Fog of Hurt: Where Silence Festers
The mix stays murky by design. That haze reflects depression’s fog. It shows isolation’s grip. The artist skips any gloss on the hurt. They just record it plainly. No ornate flourishes disrupt the void. Forget showy solos or catchy hooks. Repetition rules. Decay lingers. Silence stretches wide. Each note hangs and fades like rot. That tight control mirrors the pain itself. It builds a world of quiet torment.
Each hymn shifts and tests limits. This album demands focus. It’s no easy listen. The sting of silence lingers throughout. Listeners might pull back at first. But the pull grows. It draws you into the dark.
No Empathy: The Severance Rite
The opening hymn. No Empathy. It kicks off the mood right away. Bleak tremolo riffs slice through. Distant shrieks hide in thick reverb. Guitars melt together like spreading mist. Drums plod slow, like a funeral march. Words mourn lost ties. Empathy isn’t gone. It’s ripped away with force. The sound feels vast and empty. Like a trap in endless nothing. Connection dies there.
In texture, it uses clashing notes. They fade slow. Vocals layer like ghosts. The pain remains subdued. It’s the throb of no one listening.
Homesickness: A Lament for Roots Never Known
The second hymn, Homesickness.Eschews warm memories. It digs into soul-deep loss. Guitars take a softer bend. They hint at post-rock swells. But sorrow soaks every line. Voices switch from soft breaths to far-off cries. Like shouts over a deep gap. The track turns exile into rite. You feel cut from roots and self.
Texture builds with clean strums. Drones hum low in the back. It’s a sad song for a lost home. One that might never have been real.
The Fall of Adam: Descent Without Crash
The third hymn, The Fall of Adam, stretches longest. Over ten minutes of gradual descent. It probes life’s end and faith’s break. The piece moves in stages. A soft hum starts. Dissonance builds sharp. Then it crumbles to hush. Voices stay rare. They weave in as mood, not story.
Texture stacks tremolo waves. Quiet breaks dot the flow. Pace feels like old rites. Adam doesn’t just slip from light. He sinks into quiet. No big crash. Just fade.
From My Depths: Murmurs Beneath the Wound
From My Depths marks the fourth. It’s a low murmur from hidden places. Lo-fi grit rules here. Hiss and fade join the tools. Guitars stay calm, almost still. Voices rise like calls from underwater. The whole thing stands for buried wounds. What hides still whispers out.
Texture keeps it spare. Layers build light. Real-world sounds mix in. Noise drifts like fog. Silence isn’t empty. It’s the push of holding back.
Ritual of Survival: The Pain of Silence
Overall, Crux Ex is a dark, raw and depressive fruit of art release, solid composition both instrumental and musical, and all crafted through devilmanship—an art of sonic possession and ceremonial decay.
The Pain of Silence feels like a direct transmission of someone’s inner torment—raw, unfiltered, and ritualised through sound. It doesn’t just express pain; it embodies it. Every track is a wound reopened, every silence a scream withheld.
This isn’t just music. It’s a ritual of survival, a sonic diary of someone who has walked through the void and returned with scars instead of answers.
Cruel: The Final Breath, Meaning Unmade
The last hymn, Cruel, seals it shut. No words break the flow. Just a stark cry in notes. Slow guitar lines weep. Decay fills the gaps. It’s the final breath, the moment after the ritual ends and the silence becomes absolute. The track feels like a requiem, not for a person, but for meaning itself. We offer our deepest gratitude to Crux EX for allowing us to witness this sonic rite.
The Fifth Sin, The Memorabilia
For me, playing The Pain of Silence is not just listening—it’s ritual. Another depressive black metal artefact for my collection, one I would gladly place upon my shelf of altar, beside the relics of grief and sonic decay. But after the opening invocation, things shift. The five hymns that follow are not repetitions—they are transformations. Each one different. Each one a challenge.
And for me, this challenge is sacred.
These hymns do not comfort. They do not dull the senses or hold your hand through the void. They demand presence. Furthermore, they open the eyes and ears to suffering rendered in sound. They are long, yes—but never indulgent. Their length is a descent, a slow walk through shadowed corridors where silence is not peace, but violence.
They are: Dark: not just in tone, but in spirit. Experimental: bending genre into ritual. Depressive: not performative, but personal. Ambient: where decay becomes texture. Instrumental: where words fail, sound speaks. Blackened: as the night sky covering an abandoned graveyard.
This is not music for the masses. It is music for the altar. For those who find beauty in ruin, and clarity in collapse.
The Sixth Sin, The Artwork
The artwork, I’m unsure.
The Seventh Sin, Disrelish
There is nothing to dislike in the musical offerings of The Pain of Silence. Each hymn stands as a testament to Crux EX’s raw vision—uncompromising, introspective, and ritualistically bleak. Thus, we conclude our review of The Pain of Silence. I offer my deepest gratitude for your time in reading this scroll, and I warmly encourage you to explore the sonic rites of Crux EX. Their work deserves a place on your altar.
The Hymns
01. No Empathy
02. Homesickness
03. The Fall Of Adam
04. From My Depths
05. Cruel (instrumental)
Crux Ex
Dante Crux EX — All instruments, vocals, composition, and production